Laugh, Pagliaccio
by Phosphorescent
Summary: The real reason Booth doesn't like clowns.


_Disclaimer: I do not own or lay claim to anything even tenuously associated with Bones; it belongs to various individuals and corporations who are considerably more talented and well-off than myself. I am only playing with the aforesaid characters, situations, settings, etc. for my own amusement and am making no profit whatsoever from this (other than the bettering of my writing skills and my own amusement). No copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Contains references to 1x21: The Soldier on the Grave._

_A/N: Because although it's entirely possible that Booth just doesn't like clowns, I've always felt as though there was something more to it than that. I'd really like some feedback on this piece; not sure how I feel about it. _

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**I.**

Booth never liked clowns to begin with, even as a kid. Creepy, that's what they were; unnatural. No one smiled that much. Still, he hadn't been afraid of them until he was well into adulthood.

_The music was playing, that God-awful circus music. Duh-duh-da-la-la-la-la-la-la… and the clown was making his rounds. _

_The little boy laughed as the clown reached over and sprayed him with his water flower. The boy's father – a plump Serb with greying hair and a military bearing – laughed too, and moved closer to them. _

_(The target was in range; who knew when he'd have this clear a shot again? He aimed, fired and…)_

…_and suddenly the boy and the clown were blood-splattered. The man was on the ground in a pool of his own blood, unmoving._

(_His trainer's voice: "You always were a good shot, Booth."_)

_A woman – the general's wife? – screamed._

_The boy stared at the blood covering him uncomprehendingly; his daddy's blood. And the clown – that _stupid_ clown – was still grinning ghoulishly._

_This kid's life was changed forever, and the clown was still smiling, and that damned music was still playing. A birthday party had become some hideous parody of itself._

_And, as though nothing was wrong, the clown continued to leer._

Booth had never liked clowns, but after that mission he _hated_ them.

(Why couldn't he get that music out of his head?

_Duh-duh-da-la-la-la-la-la-la…_

_That little boy's face._)

It was all very well to say that these missions were justified; they were; Booth knew they were. That little boy's father had been responsible for hundreds of deaths, deaths of innocent civilians – some of them kids just like that little boy – whose only fault was being of the wrong ethnicity.

But that didn't stop the nightmares from coming.

_(_The fear of what kind of man he was becoming to be able to kill so callously.)

That didn't alter the fact that he had more blood on his hands.

And it sure as hell didn't change the fact that somewhere there was a boy sobbing his heart out for a father that would never return.

**II. **

"Daddy, can I have my birthday at the circus this year?" his six-year-old son asked eagerly.

"What brought this on?" Booth asked, stalling for time.

"Alex had his party at the circus, and it was really cool. There were elephants an' strongmen an' fire-swallowers an' everything."

"Uh… you don't want to have the exact same party as one of your classmates, Parks. Besides, circuses aren't all _that_ cool. Ya know what's really cool?"

"What?"

"Superheroes. 'Cause they're like strongmen, only better. Who's your favorite again?"

"_Batman_," Parker said, as though Booth was being obtuse.

_Of course. My kid _would_ go for the morally ambiguous vigilante. Not that he's thinking about that, of course. It's all about the cool costume and gadgets at this age. _

_Who am I kidding? It's always about that, at least a little bit._

"Why don't we do a Batman-themed party, huh?"

"Really? Awesome!"

_Crisis semi-averted._

But that didn't stop the insidious little voice in his head that whispered, _"Why should _your_ kid get to keep his daddy? Why should you get to watch him grow up when you took that pleasure from another man?"_

And he shuddered.

_[Duh-duh-da-la-la-la-la-la-la…_

_The little boy's delighted laugh at the clown's antics._

_(There's a clear shot.)_

Bang!

_Screaming._

_The clown's leer, blood dripping down his painted face._

_The little boy standing over his dead daddy, spattered with blood.]_

Booth hated clowns.


End file.
